


Saint Dusk of Oolacile

by Discet



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls I, Dark Souls III
Genre: Commissioned Art, Dusk's POV, F/F, Female Chosen Undead, Focused on DS1, POV Female Character, POV Third Person Limited, Uses Lore From the Trilogy, Writiers Interpretations of Lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-27 19:10:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15691608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Discet/pseuds/Discet
Summary: Dusk is the monarch to a broken kingdom. She has survived grave dangers only to stand atop the rubble of her home. Her rescuers in a far off or lost to the abyss. Relying on the strength of others can make it hard to forge a new path for yourself.





	Saint Dusk of Oolacile

**I**

* * *

 

The world was oppressive darkness. Not the gentle dark of a new moon, but the panicked pitched frenzy of the hunted in unfamiliar woods. Dusk whispered a constant stream of words into her white birch catalyst, and pushed back the dark in an exhausting defense of light.

Moving through the motions of the spell had become second nature. Her arms ached from the repeated motions, her throat was dry, and it was painful to force the words of power into the spell. Still after so long her mind began to wander, to stay awake if nothing else.

She thought of the dark robed warrior who had saved her from the crystal, and her return home. Despite her long imprisonment within the golem, little time had passed for her kingdom. Her brief excursion had run just a little long in their eyes. The excavation beneath Oolacile had come along well. There was a nervousness about the Sorcerer’s College, but Dusk had ignored it. She was just so happy to be home again.

Then her kingdom was in chaos.

She awoke one morning to the sounds of screams. She rushed out to see her people fleeing in terror from malformed monsters. She watched people run off cliffs rather than be caught as entire buildings broke from the cliffside and fell into the ever expanding chasm below.

As she tried to grasp what was occurring, the vile half formed shadow monster emerged from the chasm in her kingdom. Before she could do anything, it grabbed her and dragged her deep into the abyss below.

It had tried to corrupt and taint her with the abyss. She had started casting her spell of light to rebuff him. Frustrated, it had swallowed her into its chest. Since then, she had been chanting her defense against the feral cries of the dark. Aching longing and violent obsession teased against her flesh whenever she let down her guard.

As she started to whisper her defense once more, a bright flash of light passed through like needles piercing the dark. It had startled her so bad she nearly faltered in her wards. It then faded so quickly she thought it must have been an illusion, or hallucination brought on by exhaustion. But as she watched, more forks of light passed through.

Then for a time they stopped and Dusk wondered what had happened. Before she could fall back into despair the sparks would come back. Like an hourglass she could start to grasp time again with the ebb and flow of the sparks. They would return and each time... each time they lasted a little longer. As her hope rose the last of her strength dwindled. Her arm felt numb, her throat raw. She knew she was slowing, she could feel the rot of the abyss on her back each time she stalled for breath or rest.

Her mind was sluggish and despite every will she had to resist, she couldn’t hold on. Just as her arm refused to raise once more to cast the ward, as the darkness tried to seize her, another flash of sparks shone through. The screaming darkness reached a fever pitch and the darkness split apart into sparkling light. The dark fell away like folds of loose cloth.

She fell to the ground in a lump, her strength completely spent. She took a few shuddering breaths. She felt so weak. For a few moments she only focused on breathing. Soon however, a figure came around looking down upon her. Her savior, her taxed mind told her. Her royal manners, taught from birth, demanded she make her respect and gratefulness known, but she had no strength for it.

Dusk only watched helpless as the warrior gathered her in their arms. While she would be mortified by it later, she leaned into the embrace, so comfortable and warm. Her breathing went from labored to calm. Ahead she could make out the snuffed out remains of one of the churches bonfires. So even the gods light was lost in this abyss. Then with a single outraised palm her savior reignited the bonfire, burning once more with soft comforting light.

As its warmth flowed into her, her weary body finally gave way to sleep.

 

**II**

* * *

 

Dusk awoke in the cavernous room alone.

Her first thought was how pleasant the warmth of the bonfire was. Her second was for the monster that had taken her, and she sat up in alarm. However, the danger had long passed. There was no monster, nor any sign of her savior.

She tried to imagine any features of her savior, but none came. She could only remember their warm embrace. As her hands glided over the stone, they came into contact with a rough piece of leather.

Where her head had rested was a small leather satchel, padded with some old dingy clothes. She gingerly removed them and set them aside. They seemed to just be rags. At the bottom of the bag she saw things glittering in the light.

First, was a divine blessing of Gwynevere. Her parched throat demanded she drink immediately. Its blessing flowing into her with a feeling worthy of its divine origin.

Second, was a small pouch full of repair powder. A wondrous invention of Oolacile to repair anything that was broken. Most in Oolacile knew the repair spell it was based on, but the powder was something that merchants from all across Lordran came to trade for. She wasn’t sure what it could have been for, but after looking down at herself she saw how torn and shredded her regal clothing had become. Grateful, if mortified, she took the repair powder and dusted it over herself watching the grime, dust, and sweat disappear.

Last was the humble gift of a homeward bone. She held the enchanted rib, the only use humanity had gotten from the undead. In her hands she could feel the pull to safety, to home, to the fires of Gwyn. As she imagined the place where she felt safest she snapped the bone in two. She felt the subtle magic dragging her from the depths. As the light faded she found herself in the safety of Oolacile’s sanctuary, the royal burial grounds for Oolacile’s monarchs.

“Dusk?” a familiar voice caught her attention and she saw a familiar friendly face. The mushroom Elizabeth, her mentor and lifelong friend, stood her vigil over the young kingdoms graves. “Oh, thank Gwyn thou art safe.”

Dusk sat down as Elizabeth got out all of her fussing. She loved the old wise fungus, but she was a tad over protective even in normal circumstances. This crisis had her in a worried frenzy. Dusk patiently allowed her to get it all out of her system.

“... in any case, I am so glad thou art safe.” Elizabeth finished letting out a little huff.

Dusk nodded with a smile, “Yes, quite fortunate. To that end… Elizabeth, didst anyone come through Oolacile in the last few days? A warrior, a knight perhaps saved me from that terrible creature in the depths. I couldn’t make out anything about them, I was too weak. If possible I must make my thanks known...”

“Ah,” Elizabeth nodded her whole body in understanding. “Of course, after the crisis started a noble warrior came to Oolacile...” Dusk sat in rapt attention, remembering too clearly the strong arms that had carried her. “From the heights of Anor Londo, Gwyn’s Knight Artorias descended to Oolacile. To defeat the Abyss that had taken root here.”

Dusk felt her breath catch. The Knight Artorias? One of Gwyn’s Great Knights Artorias? He was known to everyone, but Dusk knew more than most from her talks with Sir Gough. She knew of the knights kindness and bravery. His somewhat embarrassing love for his animal companions and troops. That was the knight who had saved her?

“Oh my...” she felt a new wave of humiliation for the whole ordeal wash over her.  To inconvenience a knight of such renown, “To hast mine kingdom saved by such a glorious figure.  I must find a way to thank him,” at the mention of her kingdoms salvation Elizabeth flinched. “Elizabeth, is something the matter?”

“My dear Dusk, I have… dire tidings of the township...”

 

**III**

* * *

 

Dusk of Oolacile strode through the ruins of her life.

The fields of Oolacile were tainted by the Abyss. The land cracked and torn from the earth in a wide casm. While the chaos had come and gone, the taint hadn’t. The golems and scarecrows that tended to the forest had won the day, but as she looked out to the remains of her city built into the cliffside, they had only managed to contain the Abyss.

Her city, bright and shining Oolacile. Oolacile the land of light. Oolacile who basked in the shade of Anor Londo. That city, was gone, in its place a stage of horrors stood.

Her hands shaking, she cloaked herself in a veil of light and made her way to the market. The gates of Oolacile was a grand market, which welcomed guests with its clever and intricate architecture. Now its stone was defiled by the ichor of the abyss. She quickened her pace through to the township proper.

It broke some part of her to see her city this way. But it was worse when she came to the monsters. During her brief moments before capture she could only identify the creatures as threats to her people. Now she recognized as they wandered without victims that they _were_ her people.

They stumbled around aimlessly, looking into the middle distance with their many unnatural eyes. In their occasional mad cackles Dusk recognized the voice of friends, even distant family. As she dove deeper into the shade of the chasm she could even find the corrupted sorcerer's that were Oolacile’s greatest pride, wandering and whispering words of power.

A part of her was glad to find her manor lost to the chasm. Seeing her remaining family and servants condemned to the same fate would have been too great a pain to bear. Instead she headed to the heart of Oolacile, where the College of Light had been founded. Still standing, the college had been where many sorcerers congregated, debated, and studied the arts of sorcery. Entrusted with the dungeon to keep criminals and undead alike trapped until justice could be dealt as needed.

Several of the colleges former champions still stood at its entrance, ready to strike down intruders. Dusk, her form hidden, was able to walk past without issue. Beyond them was the Hall of Lights, which was the heart of the college. Decorated with statue upon statue of past sorcerers wielding the ivory branch of Oolacile.

She nearly gasped to see what was within, standing alone in the hall was a human, bound in chains connected to a great broken stake. Within those many binding layers, she knew, was a hollow, awaiting their deliverance to the undead asylum. Perhaps the only monster that predated this calamity. It must have escaped the dungeon below, empowered by the Abyss somehow to tear the timber it had been chained to.

It lumbered and moaned in the hall. She did not know precisely who the hollow had been, but they were beyond pity now. On a day where she had lost so much, she could not spare empathy for the undead.

She moved past the bound creature towards the dungeon below. Without the ambient light of the sun or the brightness of sorcerers lights, the halls were near pitch black. She cast a light for herself and arrived at the elevator.

As she descended down, she saw what she expected. The few cells within the dungeon were compromised, bars bent and broken, their occupants escaped. Beyond them was the bonfire, which would normally keep the undead trapped down here if they managed to kill themselves in their cells. Beyond it, was the true black. The undoing of her kingdom. The excavation that had held so many mysteries of the past and had awakened that creature free of its resting place.

As she stared past the bonfire’s glow, she remembered the cold biting darkness she had fought and struggled against for so long. She trembled, trying to force herself into the darkness beyond the bonfire. To see the origin of this abyss that had swallowed her land.

Before she could work up the nerve, she felt a pull. She was being summoned, to a far away future. So the robed warrior had use of her. She tried not to feel too relieved at the excuse to delay her duty as she felt the pull of time and space whisk her away.

 

**IV**

* * *

 

As she emerged from the fog of space into the world beyond, she took a deep breath of the rich air. Where ever that crystal golem had taken her it smelled rich and full of life. However, it always seemed somehow… dark. Unlit.

Regardless a smile came to her face as she caught sight of her rescuer, still dressed in the same deep dark robes of Izalith. Dusk had thought that perhaps her rescuer had been a descendant of the daughters of chaos. After all, rumors did say that a few managed to escape Izalith’s pyre. Though the great spear on her back felt more at home to divine Anor Londo than the witches and their pyromancy.

Dusk gave a graceful proper bow, which her savior struggled to reciprocate. Her bumbling attempt to bow with the heavy spear on her back was endearing in a way, “I am Dusk of Oolacile, It is an honor to see thee again. I shall follow thine wishes...” she eagerly awaited the opportunity to repay her debt.

Her savior seemed to shift uncomfortably for a moment. She rose her hands and started to shift and shape them into different signs. At Dusk’s confused response to the gestures she sighed. Her savior raised a bandaged hand to her throat before speaking in a gravelly strained voice, “Ma-jick?”

Dust took a moment to recognize her saviors discomfort, reordering her expectations for any kind of prolonged conversation. “I  hast several magics from mine home in Oolacile, would thou like to see a few?”

The warrior nodded and Dusk drew out her white birch catalyst and a small ornate dagger. With a flick of her wrist she weaved the light around her dagger, and in a moment it had disappeared in a haze, “I think this might be of use to thou, as a warrior.  Knights of Oolacile hast made good use of it in a fight.” Her savior considered the blade for a moment but ultimately shook her head. Dusk nodded and awkwardly attempted to sheath her hidden blade. It took a couple of tries, much to the amusement of her pupil.

Dusk took up her catalyst once more and this time disguised her whole body in the bending light, making her whole body transparent. Her savior at least looked a bit surprised, “This was designed to help one sneak around, good for scouting and...” she watched as her student produced a milky white jeweled ring, they slipped the ring on and their body became vague and near transparent as well.

Dusk dispelled her own illusion and felt a little downhearted. As her savior took the ring off Dusk examined it, she recognized the magics in it as Oolacilian in origin. It brought her a bit of comfort to know that her kingdom had at least some legacy in this far off time.

Not that it helped her currently. She had other spells but most dealt with the bending of light. She recalled a rather juvenile spell she had created in her youth. It disguised one as a nearby object, which she had used to ambush unsuspecting maid servants and butlers with pranks. “I have another one, if thou would like, it can disguise you as an object to-” her savior shook their head sadly,

“N...not good at snee-” she coughed harshly, and Dusk worried for her saviors health. Still she powered through, “sneaking around… not… subtlllle...” she spoke and Dusk looked to the great spear resting against her shoulder, and nodded in understanding.  

Dusk stood back, feeling a tad useless. She racked her brain for something the warrior might use. She considered the repair sorcery, but worried that might come across the wrong way. It might give the impression that their equipment was ill kept, a grave insult to any proud warrior.

She was about to admit her defeat when she recalled one last spell she might tutor. It was an incredibly easy spell, one of the first taught to young sorcerers in Oolacile. It didn’t feel like a proper repayment...

With reluctance and a flick of her wrist she bent strands of light into a small orb of bright light. “This is the Cast Light spell, it's fairly simple to learn...” the dark robed warrior looked up at the light and Dusk resisted the urge to apologize for how underwhelming the spell was.

Slowly the warrior lifted her hand up and Dusk awaited the polite refusal of the offer, but instead saw the warrior pull back their hood to look up at the light. Surprising to Dusk, her savior was a woman and had the darker complexion of the southern kingdoms. Most notable was the wide scar across her throat. Dusk watched as a smile crossed her savior’s lips and she spoke in the same low hoarse voice, “I… can use this...”

Dusk beamed, a hum of pleasure going through her. Her savior easily hefted her spear up and stuck it a foot deep into the soft earth of the basin. She then pulled out a simple looking polished wooden staff, and Dusk excitedly started to explain the different aspects of the spell.

Unfortunately… the lesson quickly became trying for the both of them.

It became clear to Dusk that modern sorceries were more brutish and direct. Oolacile sorceries required a more careful, gentle approach. Which would be fine if the dark robed warrior was a capable sorcerer, but it was clear the scholar’s art was not her specialty.

Again, the half formed ball of light exploded into a disparate sparks as the warrior tried to force the ball of light to form. “N-no thou need to- thou need to bend the light not-” yet another half formed ball of light burst into sparks.

She heard the annoyed hum of anger from the warriors throat and heard the creak of her wood staff as she clenched it tightly.

“I… here,” Dusk walked over to the warrior and stood beside her, taking her by the wrist, “thou need to guide the light gently...” slowly she moved them through the motions, she felt power course through the catalyst. The strands of light started to form in the air above them, before stabilizing into a bobbing bright light. Dusk smiled looking at the bright light, it reminded her of when her father had guided her through her first casting.

Standing so close, Dusk was forced to admire the physique of her rescuer. Even through her robes she could feel her toned muscles. Dusk could feel the taut, controlled strength that laid beneath.

She was shaken out of her reverie as her rescuer gave her a questioning look. Dusk also remembered how improper it was to be so close to anyone who was not family. She stepped away self consciously, “now please, try it thyself.”

Her savior nodded and attempted the spell again. Her first attempt came close, but was _too_ gentle, the strands of light falling apart. Her second attempt finally succeeded, the little ball of light bobbing between the two of them. A grin of satisfaction crossed her savior’s face, and Dusk felt a real sense of accomplishment.

Her savior gave another clumsy bow in thanks, which Dusk returned. Her rescuer gave a  wave of goodbye plucking her spear from the dirt.

“I am glad I was able to help, if thou art in need, summon me again.” The spear wielder nodded before turning and starting to make her way up the sloping hill towards the base of a large stone tower.

She watched her brief apprentice retreat and she felt the tug of time and space pull her back to Oolacile. She had done her duty and would now return. However, a small gnawing curiosity pushed her into a slight act of impropriety, calling after the warrior, “If.. if thou don’t mind-” her rescuer turned around with a look of curiosity. “May i  hast mine savior's name?”

Her savior smiled with a nod. She raised a hand to her throat and spoke, “Sofia...” she let out softly through the still air of the basin.

Dusk basked in the name as the world faded into mist and light.

As the light faded Dusk found herself again at the gaping maw of the Abyss before her. The respite had been nice, but now she needed to delve into the dark. She needed to find out what had destroyed her kingdom. If she couldn’t face it, what kind of monarch did that make her. As her foot stepped from the smooth stone of the dungeon to the loose gravel of the cavern, she felt a sudden panic seep into her bones. Memories of the roiling emotions within the beast came flooding back. Dusk found herself scrambling back to the comforting warmth of the bonfire.

After calming herself, Dusk stood and turned away from the Abyss. She reapplied her magics and kept her head down as she walked through of her ruined kingdom.

**V**

* * *

 

Dusk, head hung low, walked into the tainted and ruined marketplace when something caught her eye. A single white flower was laid atop on what she had previously assumed to be rubble.

Before she could investigate further she caught a sound on the wind. From above she could hear the sound of a soft humming. It was a sound often drowned out in the busy marketplace, but unmistakable to those who had visited it at night. “Gough?” after only a momentary pause she began to sprint off towards the staircase. She rushed up the stairs to the lone tower that hung above the market. She pulled out the old enchanted key to the tower and in horror realized it was unlocked. Fearing what she might find, she reapplied her spells before quietly opening the door and climbing the tall ladder.

She tried not to whimper at the thought of the gentle giant corrupted and twisted like her people. She wasn’t sure she could handle seeing another friend taken by the abyss.

Dusk managed to get to the top of the ladder and peered over the lip into the tower above. She was greeted by the welcome sight of the great giant carving away at his crafts. Dusk let out a soft sigh of relief.

“... Lady Dusk?” the giant turned its head towards her, “is that thee?” Dusk stiffened on the ladder looking up guiltily, “Art we playing that game again?”

Dusk dispelled her sorcery and finished climbing the ladder, dusting herself off, “No, Sir Gough, not today.”

“It is thy breathing that gives thou away,” he said scraping at the wood.

Dusk smiled, “Yes, I know Sir Gough...” Dusk thought back to her childhood of mischievously traipsing around the township with her newly learned hidden body spell. In retrospect the spell was likely sloppy, and not as effective as she thought. Most wouldn’t go yelling at the heir apparent over sneaking about harmlessly. Sir Gough on the other hand had no trouble calling her out when she managed to sneak into his tower.

For weeks she refined and improved her hidden body spell to try and fool him, and time and time again Sir Gough would find her. At first she thought maybe he was bluffing and only really saw her the first time. However, when she didn’t come forward and admit to her intrusion, he would just reach out and pat her on the head gently with one finger. It was a frustrating and humbling experience, and was probably good for her ego that someone within the township did not coddle her.

After weeks and weeks of losing at this little game between them, her father, greatly amused, explained that Sir Gough was blind. He hadn’t seen through her spell, he had simply heard her footsteps.

“I am happy to find thee well Lady Dusk. I hast worried for thou these past few days. I must admit, I feared the worst. ”

Dusk nodded, walking forward and taking her seat next to him on the ground. “It was not unfounded I’m afraid. I was in grave danger until your friend, Knight Artorias, managed to rescue me.”

Gough nodded, “ah, one last good deed for the noble knight. I am happy he managed to accomplish something in his endeavor.”

Dusk felt a halting sense of apprehension go through her, “Last?”

“Ah, I suppose you would not have seen it happen. He became consumed by the Abyss in the end, lost his mind like those creatures who once were your citizens...”

Dusk felt guilt settle down on her back. Another weight to bear, “I... I see”

“Do not blame thyself...” Gough almost demanded.

“Excuse me?”

“Artorias was a man of uncompromising bravery, one who would dive into danger without a second thought. He would not want your sympathy.”

“But, if Oolacile hadn’t fallen...”

“Then he would have met his end someplace else. Artorias was never going to meet a quiet end, it was not in his nature,” the giant shook his head, “but he died with his honor intact. For that we have that mysterious warrior to thank.”

“Mysterious warrior?”

“Yes. Shortly after the attack that tore apart fair Oolacile, a warrior arrived. They fought Artorias and managed to overcome him. Put him to rest before he could harm an innocent. I heard it happen, just below us in the marketplace.”

“Who were they?”

“Haven’t the faintest, they spoke softly, even for thou tiny folks...” he thought for a moment, “I have been trying to capture a bit of their voice.” He held up his carving before tossing it to the ground. As it shattered against the stone, a noise emerged that sounded like a cross between a shrieking cat and a growling bear. “... no. Not right.” he reached out for another hunk of wood and started to peel the bark from it.

Dusk stared perplexed at the shattered bits of wood, trying to imagine such a person making that sound. As Gough started to get back to his carving Dusk took a moment to look around the old tower. It had been constructed centuries ago by her ancestor. No stone was out of place, but there was something… off.

Then she noticed what was missing! The greatbow that Gough had wielded for both mighty Anor Londo and humble Oolacile! “Sir Gough, thy bow! It-” she was going to say stolen but she couldn’t even imagine such a heist.

“Ah… Yes. I gave it away. To that warrior, as thanks.”

Dusk was astounded, trying to think of someone who could deserve such an honor. Sure, Gough was retired, but she couldn’t imagine he had no attachment to the bow. Though the other part of her mind became worried, as Gough had occasionally reprised his role as a dragonslayer. “But… Sir Gough, what of Kalameet? If he comes back-”

“There is no need...” he said simply.

Dusk opened her mouth for rebuttal but the weight of its implications hit her. Oolacile was destroyed. Gone, its people lost or maddened. Its buildings crumbling into an abyss of horrors. “I suppose there is little left to protect...”

“Hm…? Oh, no. I mean that dreaded Kalameet has fallen, felled by the warrior who earned my bow. In this age without dragons, I no longer need such a weapon.”

Who in the name of Gwyn was this person? “H-How?” Kalameet had plagued the outskirts of Oolacile for the past three generations. Even Anor Londo did not tempt its wrath.

“Well, they managed it… with a little help from me. I grounded the beast in that valley and they quite galently slayed it. Felt like the old days, only with a lot fewer casualties.”

Dusk sat back in stunned wonder, “you really don’t know who this warrior was?” she needed to do something to show her appreciation.

“Afraid not, they were short of words as it was. Though if I get this carving right, then perhaps I can give you a voice...” With more focused energy he went about his whittling.

Dusk slowly stood up, as thankful as she was for Gough’s safety, she had an ever growing list of mysteries she wished to solve. “I am glad thou are safe Sir Gough,” she gave a proper bow that the old giant responded to with a bob of his head, “I will take my leave for now. Please stay safe.”

“I will do my best Lady Dusk.” he said in his deep rumbling voice.

Dusk took her time getting to the ladder, and making her way down. Her mind was lost in thought. The death of Kalameet would have been something worthy of a feast just a few days ago. Now it felt like a small stone had been knocked from the scales of woes her kingdom faced. Who was this mysterious champion? Had anyone else seen them? Why had they come and gone with so little fanfare?

Why was there a blade at her throat?

Dusk suddenly became very still. As she had left the tower, she had made it a half dozen steps before a blade had been pressed to her throat. She was going to step back in surprise but found another blade poised right behind her kidney.

“Do not move, do not cast, and speak slowly...”

 

**VI**

* * *

 

“Who are you, and what business do you have with Sir Gough?”

Dusk stood absolutely still as a wolf came padding forward from the staircase. She tried to keep the whimper out of her voice as she spoke, “I’m… I’m Dusk of Oolacile, visiting my friend Sir Gough.”

“Dusk, as in Princess Dusk? Ruler of this land?”

“Yes?”

“The one who unleashed this sickness?”

Dusk started to shake her head, before the blade was pressed a little closer, “I… I wasn’t aware-”

“The sickness that corrupted Artorias?”

Dusk thought of the good knight who had rescued her, and had fallen to the same abyss that her kingdom had. If she had just looked into her court a little closer, hadn’t allowed her sorcerers to dig up that… thing…

“Someone must pay for his death...”

“I never intended any of this to happen, but it was my court who dug up the sickness that took so many lives. If I had been stronger… or quicker to act. Maybe Artorias wouldn’t have fallen rescuing me…” Dusk felt the accumulated tragedy weigh upon her as she spoke, “If one must pay for that crime… I accept what punishment is deserved”

There was a pause as she clenched her eyes shut, waiting for what she hoped would be a quick death. But moments past, then a full minute. Dusk cracked her eyes open, half expecting to see… whatever happened when one died. All she saw was the wolf in front of her was still staring her down, which was oddly comforting compared to oblivion.

After a moment she felt the pressure of the blade removed from her throat and back as the figure stepped away. A human robed in a deep blue uniform stepped out in front of her, “I will not undo the last of Artorias’ work. Do not make me regret this.” the woman walked away and down the stairs. The wolf looked confused, looking between Dusk and the woman, before padding off after the latter.

Dusk took a deep breath as her legs gave out from under her. She moved to put her back against the tower, and took a moment to calm herself down. She felt like she should feel relief, or joy, or anything… but all she felt was a gnawing numbness.

Dusk did manage to put together that the small rubble with a flower placed atop it was a grave for the late Artorias. Common decency demanded that she pay her respects, and so gathered herself and went down. She was surprised as she entered the marketplace to find the wolf had rested itself around the grave. Dusk had heard legends of the faithful companion to the knight. This wolf must be Sif.

For a moment the wolf seemed intent to rise, but after a moment the anger left its eyes. Dusk approached slowly, waiting for the wolf to object. When it seemed she would not, Dusk took a kneeling position before the grave. She quietly whispered out a familiar old prayer for the dead, and grew quiet for a time.

So she sat there, for the first time since her escape she had nothing to do and nowhere to be. The quiet forced her thoughts into the corners of her mind that she had managed to distract herself from. She thought of her people, tortured within their own bodies. Of Artorias, who had sacrificed himself for her. And worst of all, she thought of the dark.

The roiling anger and violence she had fought against. Of its bitterness and pain that tried to burrow into her heart. Of the constant pain she had felt inside that creature. Every moment felt like insects swarming biting at her mind and body. How desperately she had struggled to survive. And how at peace she was at letting her life go just moments ago.

Dusk found herself shaking, blinded by tears. Everything that she had put off for days came rushing in now. She had kept herself composed, confronting the crisis as a monarch should, with poise and a level head. But what point was there in that now? Who was she acting for? Her kingdom was in ruins and its people lost.

As Dusk tried futilely to wipe away the tears, she felt a heavy weight settle in her lap. Sif had come over and rested her head in Dusk’s lap. Her tears slowed, Dusk reached down and started to run her fingers through the wolfs fur. Dusk took silent comfort in the wolfs content growls.

 

**VII**

* * *

 

Eventually the wolf rose from his position and padded off behind Dusk. Dusk looked after him only to be startled by the presence of her would be assassin, skinning a rabbit in complete silence. Dusk was certain she hadn’t been there earlier, and wondered how long she had been there.

Dusk stood up and dusted herself off. She gave one last moment of silence for the warrior before turning to the assassin, and giving a proper bow. She tried to head towards the royal wood, but could feel the eyes of the masked assassin follow her. Dusk, airing on the side of polite caution, turned awaiting address. The assassin casually fed the first skinned rabbit to Sif, and began to skin another before speaking, “... art thou hungry?”

“Thank you, but I couldn’t possibly-” she intended to turn down the offer, however just the thought of fresh meat had her stomach growling like a bear. It was unbearably audible in the quiet of the abandoned marketplace. Her face flushed bright red in embarrassment.

Dusk had had very little to eat the past few days. Elizabeth had generously given pieces of herself, but Dusk tried not to burden the mushroom’s generosity. The assassin only stared, stripping the skin from the rabbit. Dusk her hunger and curiosity for the woman getting the better of her, walked forward, “Thank you for your generosity.”

“It’s no trouble, take these.” from a traveling bag, the woman handed Dusk a wooden cutting board, its grooves marred by scratches. Then she handed her a few root vegetables that must have been foraged from the forest.

Dusk, who had been waited on since she was a small child, stared in bafflement at the vegetables. Not wanting to offend, she took out her dagger and began to cut up the vegetables. The two worked in silence for a time until the mysterious assassin spoke, “Ciaran.”

“Hm?”

“My name. I do not make a habit of breaking bread with strangers.”

Ciaran. Dusk had heard that name. It was a name spoken in whispers and awe. It was the name of Lord Gwyn’s head of assassins, Lord's Blade Ciaran. “It is a pleasure to dine with you Ciaran. Do you have any titles?”

“Dame will do.” she said simply.

Dusk nodded, it would do for polite company. Not everyone took their titles too seriously, if Gough was any indication. “Did you find all of this in the forests of Oolacile?”

Ciaran nodded, “Yes, you have quite a bountiful land here. Your guardians are quite impressive, still maintaining the land in this crisis.”

“Oh, I hope they didn’t give you much trouble...” while anyone could forage for vegetables, hunting in the forest was restricted to the nobility. The golems were ordered to apprehend any who broke the peace.

“A bit, but I am quicker then they are.” she said with a chuckle. Dusk stared at her a moment baffled by the laugh, the mask did well to hide her emotions. “That’s good enough.” Ciaran decided and took the vegetables Dusk had cut. She threw them into a small pot with the rabbit meat, and filled the pot with water from a waterskin.

As they waited for the soup to boil, they started to talk about how Oolacile had once been. Ciaran mostly listened to Dusk while tending to the soup. Occasionally she would ask questions about some bit of sorcery Oolacile employed.  

“... we found that time was closely tied to light, so with the right manipulation of it you could actually repair damage of objects.”

Ciaran nodded, “and that’s how the repair powder works?”

“Right!” Dusk said with pride.

“Well at least some good came from this kingdom’s sorcery...” judging the soup done, she took two wooden bowls and spoons from her bag. She filled each with the now rich smelling soup, holding one out for Dusk.

Dusk sat somewhat stunned at the sudden passive anger in the comment, numbly taking the offered bowl. She watched as the assassin removed her mask to dine. Behind it was revealed the face of a beautiful young woman. Despite this her face remained nearly as neutral as the mask.

Once she had regathered herself, Dusk spoke in defense of her kingdom, “Well, I think we have discovered many things for the world through our sorceries.”

“Hm… and how much of that is lost now?” Ciaran asked with a pointed spoon towards the ruined township. She ate several spoonfuls of soup, giving time for her comment to sink in. “Oolacile has long pushed the boundaries of what is safe, not to mention trading knowledge with that accursed city. And now it has cost you everything.”

“Londor had nothing to do with any of this!” Dusk now spoke in defense of their longtime ally, “It is a good kingdom, and home to a daughter of Gwyn!” Many looked down upon the ringed city as it was ruled by the irreverent Pygmy Lords, but they had always been a friend of Oolacile, even in its infancy. She would have thought the great knight would know better.

Ciaran looked angry at this defiance, “It is a city awash in darkness and heresy, and its influence has dragged Oolacile into its mire.” as Dusk was about to object Ciaran spoke again, “Tell me why did you dig so deep as to awaken this nightmare?”

The image of the primordial serpent came to Dusk. It had tempted her court, with the lost past of humanity. Londor had found ancient tomes describing an ancient peoples who had settled in Oolacile long before her own family had been gifted the land. Perhaps dating back to the beginning of the Age of Fire.

Humanities past and role in the early days of the Age of Fire had always been frustratingly vague. No miracles spoke of their role in the war against the dragons. No histories of early man had survived. Most of what was known came from the founding of the modern kingdoms of man. Of Thorolund and Astora, of Catarina and Carim. All old and great kingdoms to be sure, but all founded long after the wars against the dragons.

Delving into the past had seemed like a necessity, a duty. A way to find where humanity fit in the grand tapestry of the world. Had that serpent… had Kaathe misled her? Had it somehow known what lurked in the dark beneath her fair kingdom? “To what end?” she whispered to herself.

“Humanity...” Dame Ciaran’s voice started bitter but she relented, taking on a neutral tone. “ _Most_ humans would trade anything for power. With or without your knowledge, your sorcerers awakened a long dead threat in search of it.”

“Do you really think so little of us?” Dusk asked in a quiet voice. She wasn’t sure if she spoke for Oolacile or humanity as a whole. Had it been so wrong to seek out their past?

Ciaran eyes became filled with hate, and she carefully set down her bowl, “Let me ask you. For what purpose was that locked door placed on Gough’s tower? To keep _him_ trapped?” she chuckled derisively, “Or, perhaps, was it built to keep petty creatures; who would blind such a gentle giant by stuffing poisonous pine resin _into his eyes_?”

The question of Gough’s blindness had plagued Dusk since her youth. It had always been skirted by her father to his dying day. When she asked Gough, he claimed it was irrelevant, a question of the past. But in her heart she had known the truth.

Ciaran voice was terse but controlled, “Thine great grandfather put those vile creatures to death for their crime, for which your family has my respect. But your court of self important sorcerers? Whose ambition called forth this vile corruption? They _earned_ this torture of their own making...” Ciaran’s voice reached a fever pitch, shaking in anger.

Dusk considered her words, tempted in fear to meekly agree. But as she thought of all the people of her kingdom, she couldn’t help but speak, quietly defiant, “They didn’t all earn this.” Dusk could see from the corner of her downcast eyes a hand settle on the hilt of a blade, but she continued on. “the common folk, the smiths, millers, and lumberers… they were innocent. They didn’t deserve this”

The assassin, shaking with grief and fury stared at her in disbelief. But as Ciaran considered her words, her body became still, she took up her bowl again stirring it idly with her spoon. “No… no they didn’t.” Ciaran conceded quietly.  

 

**VIII**

* * *

 

The two had stayed silent for a time, finishing their meals in silence. Dusk wondered if she should leave, but as Dame Ciaran had started to clean up she started up the conversation again. Mostly mundane things of little note, but it helped relieve the tension.

This time Ciaran took the lead, speaking of many of the places she had visited on mission from Anor Londo. Though she generally skirted the subject of what she had gone to those places to do.

The places beyond Lordran fascinated Dusk, tales of knights and pioneers forging out into the wilds of the world the gods had laid out, “I have always wanted to travel. I never got the chance as heir to go beyond Oolacile’s borders.” Dusk said wistfully.

“Then perhaps now thou might have that chance...” Ciaran said. Dusk was startled by the morbidity of the statement, but there seemed to be no malice in the suggestion.

Still she took it to heart. She hadn’t given the future much thought. Would she stay in Oolacile, tending to her shattered kingdom? It was the noble thing to do, but she wasn’t sure if she was suited for the work. She could perhaps join the way of white, but work for the gods, while noble, was not something she was interested in. She had never had much in the way of faith. She believed in the gods on high, but she had never studied the old tales with any kind of fervor. Oolacile was a land of sorcery, and its people had always drawn strength from their wit.

_Could_ she become a traveler?

Before her mind could wander too far from home, a new sound came padding from the woods. “What’s that?” Dusk asked turning towards the noise

“No idea,” Ciaran stood slipping her mask back on, “Perhaps looters, come to pick at the bones of the kingdom.” Dusk felt a chill go down her spine. Surely her kingdoms guardians could handle a few bandits… couldn’t they? “Can you fight?” Ciaran asked standing and turning to Dusk. Dusk shook her head, “then stand behind us...” she commanded. Sif stood up with her, Ciaran pulled a greatsword from her back which she handed to Sif. For herself she pulled two ordinary looking swords from her belt, one that curved and one that was much shorter.

Dusk fearfully stepped behind the two, listening as the padding got closer and closer.

The boots hit the stone at the entrance and a dozen men dressed in simple white garb marched through. So determined in their goal that they missed the trio lying  in wait. They had weapons and shields, but no armor. “Quick, we have waited too long for Sir Artorias,” the one in the lead said, wielding an elegant birch bow of Oolacile. He had familiar head of black hair on his head. “We must rescue Lady Dusk”

“Halflight? Is it thou?” the procession of nervous young men whirled around, drawing their swords. Two of them found Ciaran’s blade at their throats. “D-dame Ciaran, please. I believe these are survivors...” she spoke quickly, hoping the assassin heeded her. Ciaran paused for a moment, then stepped back. The two soldiers stumbled back into their fellows.

Halflight, young knight in training and Dusk’s childhood friend, pushed his way through to Dusk, taking a knee, “Lady Dusk! Thou art safe!” the other young warriors finally grasping the situation also took a knee.

Pages and squires all of them, Dusk realized. Not a true knight among them.

Dusk felt the chains of duty binding her again. Then felt a terrible guilt at the thought. She drew herself up in regal poise, “Yes, Halflight. I am surprised that thou art as well. I had thought all were lost.”

Halflight looked up, “many managed to escape the chaos, the stone golems and scarecrows kept those creatures from giving chase...” Halflight explained, “We and the others are camped out at the base of Sen’s Fortress.” he gestured back in the direction of Anor Londo, “but my lady, how did you survive? I saw you taken by that… that thing near over a week ago!”

“Oh... well-”

Ciaran spoke up so all might hear, “Sir Artorias dived into the Abyss and rescued Lady Dusk in her hour of need...”

A murmur of awe rippled through the young warriors. Halflight, who led them spoke up “That… that is incredible. Where is the good Knight? We must feast to his bravery!” Halflight spoke up and received a rally of cheers from the other warriors in agreement. The cheer quickly died however as they saw the dour look on Dusk’s face. “Is something the matter my lady?”

Dusk took in a deep breath and spoke solemnly, “After rescuing me from the creature of the abyss, Sir Artorias became tainted by the abyss himself. Before he might harm any others, a noble warrior put him to rest, here at the gates of Oolacile.” Dusk pointed out the small file of rubble that served as a gravestone.

There was a silence among the group, not sure how to take the news of the demise of one of Gwyn’s Great Knights. For a brief moment new hushed whispers passed through the group, but were hastily silenced by Halflight. “Then tonight we will toast to his valor.” he looked at the fellow pages with bent shields and chipped swords. “I suppose it was a tad foolish to think we might do better than Knight Artorias.”

Dusk stepped forward, to assuage their pride, “Regardless, I commend your bravery. I am truly blessed to have such noble and loyal subjects,” the young men seemed to beam at their princesses praise. A monarchs words were precious coin. “Speaking of, thou say more art resting at Sen’s fortress?”

“Yes! Anor Londo has been a kind neighbor to Oolacile,” he spoke with unbridled faith. “Um… Dame?” he turned to Ciaran with a curious eye.

“Ciaran.”

Halflight flinched, clearly recognizing the name from the children's tales they had both been told. Still he managed to put on a brave face, and spoke without his voice cracking, “Dame Ciaran, thank you for protecting our Lady Dusk,” he gave a proper bow, which Ciaran responded to with a short nod of her head. Halflight then turned to Dusk, “At thou’s leave Lady Dusk, we will bring you to your people.” He stood and offered his hand out to his princess.

Dusk felt a twinge of… something, something odd. She buried the feeling. Her people needed her, such errant thoughts could wait. She took the offered hand and walked with Halflight out of her ruined kingdom.

 

**IX**

* * *

 

They made their way through the corrupted and cracked remains of the Royal Wood. Ciaran and Sif came along as well, much to Dusk’s surprise. The scarecrows and guardians continued their centuries long tasks, unconcerned with the group.

The land was so broken in places that Halflight and his fellows had laid a felled tree over the gap. There was a lot of fuss about how to safely escort Dusk across. These arguments went on for near an hour, until Dame Ciaran casually lifted Dusk and walked across with ease. Many of the warriors were scandalized by the casual hauling of their monarch, but none were willing to speak against the assassin. Dusk, for her part, felt quite flustered being so roughly handled by the person who had threatened to kill her earlier, but she too did not feel so strongly as to complain about it.

After an hour or so of hiking, Dusk could see the top of Sen’s fortress in the distance. The castle was the end for many pilgrimages. The entrance to Sen’s trial was as close as most would get to Anor Londo. Many pilgrims would then come to Oolacile after completing their journey.

At the raised outcropping outside the fortress, Dusk could see dozens of tents. Some had the simple emblem of the white birch on their side, others made do with repurposed sheets.

As the pages and squires arrived with the news of Dusks safety, people came flooding out from their tents. There were few. Far too few to celebrate, but it was something. A few of her citizens looked stunned. They gave thanks and praise to the gods above for her safe return. It was strange to be among her citizens again. But familiar faces were a welcome sight for her weary heart.

As she greeted and was welcomed by her remaining citizens, Dusk saw an ominous form descending the stone steps. They were armored in the silver of Gwynevere. They guarded the entrance to Sen’s Fortress and stood half a man taller than anyone in the crowd. Her horde of well wishers moved away at the approaching warrior of the gods. He looked at Dusk, “and thou are?”

Halflight, stepped forward and gestured toward Dusk with a gallant bow, "It is my honor to inform thou, mighty knight of Anor Londo, that Dusk of Oolacile has been rescued by knight Artorias," a cheer came out from the crowd of citizens. “Though it is also my grave duty to announce that after his success, the good knight fell to the abyss.”

The Silver Knight looked nonplussed by the news. He must have already heard of Artorias’ demise. He gave Dusk a bow of respect to acknowledge, if nothing else, her royal heritage. “It is good that thou are here, for I have an announcement, relayed to me from the golden city.” the chattering peasants fell silent awaiting the divine announcement. The knight unfurled a piece of parchment and spoke in a booming voice. "As Oolacile has fallen it has been decided to provide thou all transportation, supplies, and guidance to anywhere you might want to settle. You will be given letters to deliver to the church, they will find you a home in your new kingdoms."

The crowd of onlookers now murmured speaking in shocked and hushed whispers. "Oolacile will not be reclaimed?" Dusk asked with a sense of dread settling over her. She had... well not expected, but hoped that Anor Londo would come and drive the Abyss from her city. The silver knight only stared at her, awaiting clarification, “The source, Manus, it has been destroyed. All that remains are the… creatures in the township."

Dusk felt the judgmental stare of the silver knight focus on her, "Anor Londo has sacrificed one of its greatest warriors to your rescue, and you would ask more of it?" The knight was incredulous, "Are humans truly so shameless?"

Dusk, chastised, stepped back in a bow. She had no right to demand the strength of others...

"She is right!" A voice parted the crowd, revealing Lord’s Blade Ciaran.

"Lord's Blade Ciaran!?" The silver knight took a knee before her, "I had not known thou were among these… humans..."

The Lords Blade nodded, "As it should be. Lady Dusk however, is correct. Anor Londo needs to act against the abyss as soon as possible. The last act of Artorias shall not be in vain."

"This news is from Lady Gwynevere herself, I have no authority-"

"Then I will appeal to her myself. Continue to feed the humans, and find some proper arrangements for Lady Dusk." She ordered before heading straight towards Sen's fortress, undaunted by its nature or the danger it posed. Sif padded off after her, and Dusk wondered if the wolf was unaware, or simply unconcerned by the trial it had just entered into.

Dusk stood in shock by the Great Knights proclamation. Even as her people rejoiced around her, some part of her wondered if Dame Ciaran could really call down the forces of Anor Londo to liberate her township.

 

**X**

* * *

 

Despite Dusk’s worries, Dame Ciaran was true to her word. Within days, ravens from Anor Londo were sent to every land. Calling for champions of the Way of White and any pious knights to come to Oolacile’s aid.

The silver knight at the gate received one of these ravens and quickly took charge of the encampment. He put the nervous and idle hands of her people to work; clearing trees and laying down foundations for more permanent lodgings.

At first Dusk was happy to return to her role as the monarch. Letters to write and people to console. However, without the court and its politicking, she found herself idling without much to do.

She tried to find ways to help, but the common folk were unwilling to let Dusk dirty her hands in the practical work around the camp. Fewer still seemed comfortable speaking to her as an equal. She ended up spending much of her time in her overly opulent tent the silver knights had provided her. A peasant girl had volunteered to be her lady-in-waiting, but even she was still uncomfortable around Dusk. Even simple personal questions turned the poor girl into a stuttering mess.

So Dusk whittled away her days practicing magic, reading, and going through the routine of royal life. Slowly becoming more and more stir crazy.

After about a week of this, her unrest had become unbearable. She decided that she would take a trip to visit Elizabeth. They had much to discuss. She had intended it to be a light day of hiking, to and from the sanctuary. She trusted the golems of the Royal Wood to keep her safe.

However, after informing Halflight of her intentions, he insisted upon himself as well as five other squires and pages to accompany her. She had gotten him to only bring two, but her peaceful hike in the woods had been spoiled by her paranoid bodyguards. Fortunately, they had managed to put together a better bridge, so she could cross with dignity.

Before the sun could reach its full glory, they had come to the last bridge before Oolacile's Sanctuary. The sanctuary was where those of noble blood were put to their final rest, like her father and his father before him. Despite its solemn purpose, Dusk had always found it a comforting place.

This was do in no small part to her lifelong mentor and friend Elizabeth. Whom she could not wait to see again. Poor mushroom must be worried sick by now.

"Thou have outstayed your welcome!" Elizabeth's voice came chiming through the twisting paths to the sanctuary. Even before the crisis, no one was supposed to be in the sanctuary aside royalty. "This is not thine's time nor place! Please you must leave!" the tone in Elizabeth's voice worried Dusk. Her entourage quickly pushed to the front of her, drawing blades and rushing into the glade.

"What art thou doing, trespassing on hallowed ground!?" Halflight’s voice demanded.

"Oh dear..." Elizabeth sounded distraught, and Dusk pushed closer. As she entered the sanctuary proper, Dusk gasped.

Sitting by the church’s bonfire was a woman clad all in black. A great spear rested next to her on the ground, wrapped in a dingy brown cloth. She seemed to pay little mind to the warriors surrounding her, simply tending to the bonfire before her. Even sitting Dusk recognized the calm strength that the woman carried, "Sofia?"

Sofia, responding to a voice for the first time turned, pulling down her hood and giving Dusk a small smile.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art commissioned from @mollyjames on Tumblr. She has a lot of good art and her own Dark Souls comic if your looking for more good stuff to read.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who managed to read through everything, I put a lot of effort into this and I hope you enjoyed it.


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